


call it anything but love

by in48frames



Category: Free Agents (TV US)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/pseuds/in48frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex and Helen and Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	call it anything but love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elapses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elapses/gifts).



> This is not at all what I expected to write (a Christmas story for Yuletide, really?), but I like what I ended up with and I hope you will too!

The year Pete died, Helen's parents talked her into coming home for Christmas. Well, they told her she couldn't stay alone in her apartment and that if she tried, they would come stay with her, and that talked her into it. Home has memories of childhood (ugh) and teenage angst (hideous) but at least it doesn't involve her mother descending on her apartment and critiquing her décor and liquor collection.

Now, just shy of one year later, Helen sits at her desk and guesses at the Christmas plans of her colleagues. Greg has an actual intact family, Dan probably still goes home to his parents, Emma... No one dares ask. And of course, no one _wants_ to know what Stephen gets up to (or into) on his days off.

Her eye catches on Alex across the floor and she knows that as much as she tries to set herself apart from him, he's the only one who can possibly be sharing her level of dread for _the holidays_ this year. He sees her and cocks an eyebrow, and she rises smoothly from her desk, tugging down her dress and checking her hair in one motion. She strides over to his office and taps on the doorframe.

"Knock knock."

He swivels his chair to face her and she walks in, closing the door behind her.

"Uhh..." Alex clears his throat as Helen comes to perch on the corner of his desk.

"Oh, settle down. Our offices are made of glass." She looks pointedly through the pane beside the door and gives a fluttery wave to Dan and Greg standing and gawking across the cubicles. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?" There's still a slight trace of eagerness to his voice and she tries to communicate _this is not sexual you idiot_ through her body language, though maybe the way she's sitting on his desk isn't the best for that purpose.

"So... Christmas." She just kind of leaves it like that because there's no way either of them doesn't know exactly what she's talking about — empty apartments and missing families and she doesn't even have a tree, but he doesn't even have, like... a table, so.

"Oh, you celebrate holidays? I'd never have guessed." He smirks, or does the best imitation he's capable of.

Helen lifts her hand to give him a smack but drops it back to her lap. "Okay, _smart aleck_ , I would have a really clever response to that except that that's kind of exactly the problem. I would give anything to not _have_ to, you know, _celebrate_ or whatever, but my parents are insisting on a family Christmas ever since Pete..." Alex leans back in his chair silently, clearly waiting for her to say what she came to say. "Last year it was the _worst_. They kept trying to get me to talk about my feelings or confide in them but, I mean, Alex, imagine me in the form of two old people who created me. It was just awkward and painful and I really don't want a repeat."

"I can see how that would be your worst nightmare, but I don't get where I come into this."

Helen gets up and walks a few paces away, then turns and plants her feet. "Well, obviously you're going to be alone in that wasteland of an apartment with, what, a frozen turkey dinner and your cable, probably watching Christmas specials in your boxer shorts, and that just seems so sad to me, so I was thinking you could maybe, as long as you didn't take this the wrong way or make it anything it's not, or read anything into it, and I'm serious, Alex, there would have to be actual boundaries — but I was thinking that if you came with me, you would be less depressingly alone on Christmas, and maybe, uh, dissipate... the focus... you know." She puts one hand on her hip and looks nonchalantly at the art on the wall to her right so she doesn't have to see his face lighting up.

A moment passes before he says, good-natured irony in his voice, "How kind of you to think of me. What a totally selfless, generous offer." She turns back and scrunches her face up in a mockery of a smile, and his tone returns to normal. "I'll have to check with Laura about her plans for the kids, but I kind of doubt she's planning on sharing them with me this Christmas, so... yeah. Maybe it would be nice to be someplace different."

Helen nods and moves to the door, then looks back with her hand on the knob. "And Alex — you have to promise me you won't cry or embarrass me." She points at him. "There will be consequences." Without waiting for an answer, she sweeps out the door.

+++

On the afternoon of the twenty-fourth (who gets a week off for Christmas? Definitely not the employees of Hale Dayton & Associates) Alex shows up at Helen's apartment in khakis and a terrible Christmas sweater. She shouldn't be surprised, but somehow...

After opening the door wide, Helen steps back and puts her hands on her hips. "How many of those do you have?"

He looks down and smoothes his hand down the bright green Christmas tree on the front of his sweater, saying defensively, "I didn't bring _all_ of them."

"How many did you bring?" she asks incredulously.

His response is matter-of-fact. "One per day." She stares at him, but he stares right back, finally adding, "They were gifts from my kids. And look—" he points at one eye, "—no tears."

Helen throws her hands up and walks away and Alex quickly swipes his fingers across his eyelashes before trailing her into the kitchen. He rounds the corner in time to see Helen take a bottle of red wine off the island and bend down to stuff it in her overnight bag. Alex stops short in the doorway and Helen looks up to tell him off for whatever judgmental thing he's thinking — she's not an alcoholic, it's a contingency plan — but she sees where he's looking and straightens up slowly. Her sweater (cashmere, solid color, no holiday symbolism in sight) is a touch low-cut and the way she was leaning down must have put her (ahem) goods on (cough) display. He blushes and looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Okay, pal, show's over. You can wait in the living room while I finish packing. It'll just be a minute."

"I wasn't—"

"Whatever, Alex, just shoo." She waves him off and he wanders back to the couch, sitting stiff and polite and silent until she comes to fetch him.

+++

Helen drives. She hates Christmas music, naturally, and Abba is out, so she puts on a CD of The Monkees. Occasionally she'll hum under her breath or tap her finger on the steering wheel, but for the most part she is impassive and focused on the road. Alex tries not to watch her, instead putting his head back and watching the scenery pass by. The drive is only just over three hours, and Alex is a bit nervous about meeting her family, which is pretty ridiculous considering how old he is ( _old_ , okay, just don't talk about it) and also considering their relationship. Which:

"What are you going to tell them about me?"

"Hmm?" Helen glances over, not actually making eye contact before looking back at the road. "I'm sure you can guess, Alex. You're a friend from work who's going through a divorce and/or rough time. My family is very... welcoming..."

"That doesn't sound all that reassuring, somehow."

A pause. "It's hard to explain a family in words. I strongly believe that they will do their best to be kind to you. Let's just leave it at that for now." She reaches over without looking and pats his hand, quickly returning to the wheel. Her knuckles aren't white and her shoulders aren't hunched but he can tell that she's tense.

The rest of the drive passes in silence.

+++

They arrive in Creswell around dinner time, but have to spend an hour driving around looking for a store that's open on Christmas Eve. Alex needs a hostess gift and Helen needs to contribute in some way, though she's never sure what qualifies. A grocery store is about to close, and after picking out a bouquet of flowers, Alex finds Helen standing by a display of Holiday boxed sweets.

"Do you think... chocolates?"

He looks at her and she stares at the display.

"Do your parents like chocolate?"

"Umm... most people do, right? I'd buy a bottle of wine, but you know... they're probably set on that front."

She doesn't seem about to make a move, so Alex looks at the display and picks a box. "This one looks nice. It's more about the packaging than what's inside, anyway, right?" Helen just looks at him and he smiles and says, "Yes, Alex, you have wonderful taste. Come on, let's check out and face the music."

+++

Helen's mother opens the door with a flourish, exclaiming "My darling!" with one arm flung out for a hug and the other carefully balancing a glass of white wine.

"Hey Mom," Helen replies, gingerly returning the enthusiastic embrace.

The older woman leans back, holds Helen by the shoulders, and passes a critical glance over her face and body. "You are looking wonderful, darling." Then she catches sight of Alex, standing awkwardly back a few paces. "And who is this handsome devil? Helen, you didn't tell me he was so _good-looking_."

Helen winces and gives Alex an apologetic glance. "Mother, I told him you would be nice, not throw yourself at him."

Still, her mother steps forward and wraps her arms around Alex, saying, "Merry Christmas, Alex, and lovely to meet you." She gives him the same inspection Helen received, then adds, "You must call me Judith, and please, make yourself at home." With that, she turns and walks off into the house, calling behind her, "Show him where to leave his bags, won't you, Helen?"

After slowly inhaling and exhaling one long breath, Helen looks over her shoulder and tilts one side of her mouth up a notch. "Come on, then."

She leads him into the house and down a long hallway. At an open arch, she calls "Hello, Dad," but doesn't slow long enough for Alex to see more than a figure on a couch and hear the sound of sports on TV. Near the end of the hall, she opens a door and flicks a light switch, and Alex sees a magazine-style guest room. Helen waves him in and says, "You can put your bag down and freshen up, or whatever it is men do while women are freshening up. My room is just across the hall." She nods her head at the opposite door, then waves and shuts the door on him.

He sets his duffel bag on the floor and flings himself at the bed for a moment of rest. He doesn't smell or anything but he definitely feels wrinkled from the long drive so he'll get up and change in a minute. It feels good to stretch everything that he can without actually moving.

He may or may not have fallen asleep a little, but only for like a _minute_ , and then he gets up and makes himself fresh and heads across the hall. As far as he can tell, Helen's parents are still on the other side of the house. He taps on her door, waits a second, then eases the door open and peeks around.

Helen is sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at the walls. Alex says "Hey," and she dips her head and looks at him sideways and says "Hey" back. He steps into the room and closes the door behind him, going to sit beside Helen on the bed. He looks where Helen is looking and sees New Kids On The Block posters and photo collages of a much younger Helen. Sometimes Alex is smarter than he looks, so instead of making a joke, he sits silently and waits.

Leaning forward, she rests her weight on her hands at the edge of the bed. He can hear her measured breaths. Occasionally he looks at her, not trying to be stealthy about it.

"It's weird," she says finally, stilted. "The house is big enough that they don't need my room for anything. So they haven't changed it at all. Then they invite me home and expect me to sleep in here and they think it will comfort me somehow. I don't find it comforting. Maybe... suffocating." She looks at him and her eyes are almost shiny, just the barest hint of maybe a trace of tears. "Pete never came home with me, and maybe they think it'll help that there are no memories of him here. But it's not forgetting him I want. It never has been. This house is like an alternate universe where I never left. It's bizarre."

The flow of words stops abruptly and she leans on her hands, staring at her lap. Alex desperately wants to put his arm around her, but instead he copies her posture so that one of his hands is right next to hers on the bed. He looks at his lap and moves his pinkie finger to cover hers. She doesn't say a word.

+++

When they finally make their way back to the main part of the house, Helen's mother leaps up from her spot in the living room and ushers them around, situating Helen on the couch with her dad, Alex in the arm chair, and herself (after fetching plates and drinks to set on TV tables) on the love seat. They eat watching one of the many Christmas movies playing on every available television channel. It's a nice low-key evening and Alex feels himself relaxing a bit, a tiny miniscule speck of Christmas spirit in his heart putting a barely-there smile on his face. And okay, maybe he cries a _little_ at the end of the movie, but if his sleeve easily soaks it up it can hardly even be considered crying, and anyway, it's a freaking _Christmas movie_ , he is not made of stone. He does glance around surreptitiously in hopes that no one noticed; everyone else has their eyes on the screen.

By the time the movie ends it's close to midnight and everyone makes noises about getting to bed. Judith pats Alex's cheek and says, "We'll get to know you much better tomorrow, dear," and tells him that they'll "be just up the stairs" if he needs anything in the night. He smiles and thanks them and heads to his room.

After brushing his teeth and changing into his pyjamas, Alex sits on the edge of his bed and thinks about the bottle of wine in Helen's bag. He knew that he'd be alone eventually, and it's still better than spending the entirety of Christmas alone, right? But he doesn't know how to stop himself from thinking about his kids celebrating their first Christmas without him, and he doesn't know how he's going to be able to sleep tonight.

He pulls out the novel he brought — so Helen wouldn't see one of his self-help books and make fun of him for it — and tries to read, though he frequently finds himself staring into space. This might be a long night.

+++

"He seems like such a nice young man," Helen's mother whispers to her as Helen guides her up the stairs. Judith leans heavily on her arm and makes a slow progress up the stairs — the detriments of age combined with a tad too much wine make this simple act a perilous journey.

Focusing on the next step, Helen answers absently, "Yes, he's a very nice man."

"That's good."

Helen hears something in her voice and looks up for a second to confirm a small smile on her mother's face. She could ask about it, but she'd much rather avoid any further discussion on the topic, so she ignores the implication and continues to help her mother up one step at a time.

When Helen finally deposits her mother in bed, she kisses her on the cheek and says, "Goodnight, Mother," and walks away. She has to turn as she shuts the door, and she sees her mother watching her with that same smile on her face. She smiles back to be kind, but as soon as the door is shut she mimes stamping her foot and pulling her hair out. Mothers!

Back in her room — _her_ room — Helen paces and thinks about the bottle of wine in her bag and dreads tomorrow. Bringing Alex seemed like a good idea at the time ( _did it?!_ ) but now she's kind of freaking out. People are going to ask questions and make assumptions and she should have thought of that ahead of time, what is wrong with her? She sits down on the bed but her feet tap out a drum roll on the floor and she gets up to pace some more.

The situation is what it is. It's too late to change her mind about this. But there is one thing she can do to make this night less unbearable.

She changes quickly into her PJs (covering her tracks — there's something sick about that), glances around the room, shuts off the light, and closes her bedroom door quietly behind her. With the door at her back, she pauses — takes a deep breath — and crosses the hall in one step. In the carbon-copy of an earlier scene in reverse, she taps lightly on the door, waits a second ( _barely_ ), and then eases the door open.

Alex has the lamp on, a book in his lap, and his glasses on. He's already looking at the door — looking _through_ the door, and has to blink to bring her into focus. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't look particularly surprised. He does glance up at the ceiling, and as she crawls up from the foot of the bed, she says, "Don't worry. They might as well be in another house." He just looks at her, resigned, and she kisses him to keep from thinking about that. She moves his book blindly out from under her, pulling away for just a second to say, "You couldn't sleep, either," like it's a question but it isn't. She slides into his lap and wraps her arms around his neck, and he doesn't hesitate to respond.

Despite the distance, the sound-proofing of walls and empty rooms, they move quietly, smoothly, easing into each other and over each other like they've done this before, just like this. The guest room is impersonal, it might as well be a hotel room, but they both know it isn't and they both find it kind of intensely hot. Not that they talk about it — they don't talk about anything, not until they're exhausted and Helen curls up on her side, almost in the middle of the bed. Alex approaches her back silently, and for the first time he curls around her, tucks his arm over her waist and his forehead into the crook of her neck. Neither says a word.

+++

Helen wakes early, feeling absurdly rested, not that that means anything. She eases carefully away from Alex and off the bed, wincing both at the danger of waking him and at the whole idea of... cuddles... ugh. At the door, she listens, then eases the door open and listens again, peeks cautiously down the hall, then steps into the hallway and closes the door as quickly and quietly as possible so that she can open and close her own door and be safe inside her room. After all that stealth, she flops face-down on the bed, already exhausted.

She showers and they have a quiet breakfast, the four of them, all wet hair and housecoats. The turkey is in the sink, the countertops are covered in casserole dishes, and no one has the energy to socialize much knowing that family will arrive soon and the big dinner is in just a handful of hours.

Once breakfast is cleared away, Judith delegates and everyone leaps into action. Most jobs only involve sliding the prepared pieces into place; Helen's mother is nothing if not an organized drunk. But they're kept busy, and before they know it, the doorbell rings and the first guest has arrived. Alex and Helen shoot each other the occasional glance across rooms, but they've done this enough times that the "morning after" is the easiest part of the whole thing: Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Alex may be terrible at flirting but he is _very good_ with family. He charms elderly aunts and talks divorce lawyers with Cousin Jeremy. At dinner he is seated next to Aunt Bertha and across from Cousin Angela and Helen (from the other end of the table, thanks Mother) always has his laughter at the edges of her hearing. He praises Judith's cooking to high heavens and there are few better ways into a mother's heart. By the time they move to the living room, relatives are vying for Alex's attention, and Helen is only half-listening to her own conversations because it's so fascinating to watch. The awkward questions she was dreading never arrive — no one really cares where Alex came from or how he belongs.

After myriad kisses and hugs goodbye (Helen doesn't let herself count or compare hers to Alex's, but it's at least a little ridiculous), they are the last people to leave. Helen lets her parents squeeze her as much as they want and waves as she backs out of the driveway.

+++

Alex offered to drive back, but Helen refused (he kind of feels like she maybe has an issue around control or something, he's not a doctor), and as soon as they hit the highway she visibly relaxes and whoops (once, very short) and even rolls down her window for a minute to feel the fresh air.

He sits back again and looks out the window and smiles a little, then turns to ask, "Didn't you have a nice time? I thought it was pretty nice!"

She laughs a quick articulated "haha!" that sounds less like sarcasm than a slight touch of lunacy. "You would! I bet you had a great time."

"Yep." He's not offended, but definitely bemused. "Are you okay? You seem kind of edgy."

Looking forward at the road she stills, blinks a few times, then says, "I love my family. I do. But..." She dips her head, looks to the side at him. "You must get it, how it's different when it's your own? I just feel so much pressure there. The city is where I can be free."

He smiles quietly at her for a long moment, during which she turns back to the road, but steals one more glance at him. She purses her lips and shakes her head and says, "Enough feelings-talk, seriously Alex, you are not cooperating with my plans at all," and puts some music on. He just looks out the window and keeps smiling.

+++

The car pulls up outside Alex's building and he turns to face Helen.

"Thank you for inviting me. I really did have a very nice time."

She smiles a little and looks at her hands in her lap.

"You had a nice time, too, you know," he says thoughtfully, cocking his head.

"Whatever," she replies softly, no malice in it.

Again Alex wishes he could touch her in some way but that is unequivocally out of the question. Somehow they've come to this unspoken agreement where she initiates and she decides and he can't take those steps because that just isn't how it works. Not that she would let him hold her hand or anything anyway. That's just not _Helen_. But however slowly, things are changing. He doesn't know how it's going to end, or whether they're ever going to be any sort of approximation of some variety of something close to or approaching "normal," but as emasculating as _some people_ would say it is (okay, they would say girly, that doesn't make it true) to even think something like this, he just _really likes Helen_. As a person and, you know, in bed. So what. That's how he feels.

All of which stays firmly in his head as he sits like an idiot in the passenger seat of Helen's car. He comes to with a bit of a start and Helen is, of course, staring at him oddly. He smiles at her and then sighs at himself because it feels like all he's been doing for two days is smiling like a moron. It has to be the Christmas spirit, right?

He makes a face (because his only other choice is smiling again and he just wants his face to shut up for a minute) and says, "Goodnight, then," unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door.

"Alex."

He turns back. "Yeah?"

"Thank you..." Helen trails off and looks out the window like she just saw something fascinating.

He smiles (damn it) and goes home.


End file.
